‘Good God!’ uttered Roding. He had shaved his side-whiskers and come over in flannels, but he was still indisputably the same person who had attended Ann Veronica for the measles and when she swallowed the fish-bone. An extra pair of gym clothes materialized within fractions of a second. I was supposed to do the same, but I didn’t. “And by what right do you do anything of the sort?” “No right at all,” he admitted. It did not occur to her that they at least had found a way of earning a living, and had that much economic superiority to herself.
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